The story goes that Pontevedra was founded by the archer Teucer, a hero of the Trojan War. There’s not a great amount of evidence to back this up, but the origins story stuck, and now people from Pontevedra are called Teucrinos.

It was a thriving port for many years, famed for its fish curing and salt production and, by the 16th century, was one of the most populated of Galicia’s cities. Like many towns and cities that existed on ancient trading routes, it faded from the spotlight as the centuries rolled by, even though it remains a popular place to pause on the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. Now it rewards visitors with a beguiling blend of historic streets which buzz with a youthful ambience.

Six of the best of Pontevedra

The Main Attraction – Church of the Virgin Pilgrim

The Iglesia de la Virgen Peregrina is an essential stop for any pilgrim passing through Pontevedra. Constructed in 1778, it’s a shrine to those following the way of St James. Even the floor plan is designed to mirror the shape of a scallop shell. Shellfish are a bit of a theme throughout the church, there’s also a mollusc-shaped fountain. You don’t have to be a pilgrim to appreciate this impressive example of religious architecture, combing both Baroque and Neoclassical features, which welcomes visitors to the streets of the old quarter. Although entrance is free, for €1 you can climb to the church’s dome.

Blast from the past – Mercado de Abastos

Markets can be like a living link to the past. The way trade is conducted in older ones feels as though it hasn’t changed much in centuries. And so it is with Pontevedra’s bustling Mercado de Abastos, which is open from early morning till 15:00 daily except for Sunday. It has all the usual products you’d expect from a Spanish market – cheeses, hams, chorizos, vociferous shoppers – but being close the coast, the fish and seafood are especially good. The first floor is a designated gastronomic area; a great place to enjoy local goodies while soaking up the atmosphere and aromas of the market below.

A Serene scene – The Jardines de Casto Sampedro

The Jardines de Casto Sampedro are one of the few green spaces within the old town and are known for being the location of the fountain which symbolises Pontevedra’s hospitable nature as it traditionally provided fresh drinking water for pilgrims. For a truly tranquil spot cross the Ponte do Burgo and follow the river east to reach the Illa das Esculturas, Galicia’s largest open air art museum, where over 10 sculptures blend in, sort of, with the island’s natural elements. Basically, it’s a big park with lots of works of art.

A taste of – empanadas

Although empanadas (pies with a savoury filling) are a speciality throughout Galicia, they are especially popular in the tascas and taverns of Pontevedra. Empanadas have been the street food of pilgrims since the 12th century. It’s even said there’s a pilgrim eating one carved into the Santiago de Compostela’s Pórtico de la Gloria, but we haven’t tracked him down yet. Before visiting Galicia, we were used to Spanish empanadas being filled with mostly tuna and tomato. Here, you can find octopus, scallops, cockles, cuttlefish, chorizo, chicken and mushrooms, cod and raisins, and a lot more. The one on the picture was at Tapería La Estafeta near the Parador de Pontevedra.

Away from the crowds – Casa das Campas

Pontevedra’s great charm lies in the maze of streets that make up its historic quarter. The network of narrow lanes is a labyrinth full of little interesting snippets to devour – old fountains, intriguing sculptures, discreet plazas, buildings with fascinating pasts. One of these is Casa de Campas, once home to Benito de Soto, considered the last great pirate by some, and a murderous psychopath by others. Legend has it there is treasure stashed away in the old house. There are plenty of atmospheric bars nearby to sit with a drink and ponder where the old sea goat might have hidden it.

The quirk – the parrot Ravachol

The annoying thing about the sculpture of the parrot Ravachol is I didn’t take a photo of him. I thought the sculpture was something to do with the bank (formerly a pharmacy) it’s located outside on Rúa Michelena. It was only after we left that I discovered Ravachol was a parrot extraordinaire. Not only did he squawk loudly when anyone tried to steal from the pharmacy that was his home, he was also an enthusiastic participant in the intellectual soirees his owner regularly held there. Ravachol was so beloved by Teucrinos, his symbolic burial is now an integral part of the city’s carnival celebrations.

Summary

Pontevedra doesn’t really have any attributes that makes it sexy enough to draw anyone seeking iconic Instagram material. It is simply an extremely pleasing place to spend time in, to wander slowly, pausing at pavement cafes and bars, and taking an eternity over lunches in picturesque plazas. Maybe that’s what makes Pontevedra so appealing. In a world where some travellers treat notching up destinations like it’s just a numbers game, Pontevedra’s pilgrim personality slows the pace right down, allowing you to appreciate qualities you might otherwise miss.

We’ve approached Santiago del Compostela from two different caminos, the Camino Francés and the Camino Portugues. On the first we were surprised by the extent of the ‘industry’ that had grown up around the Camino de Santiago. Budget pilgrim’s menus are commonplace, but are they any good? I know the pilgrim’s food we had on the final stages of the Camino Francés was very ordinary. I also know some specialist Camino websites agree that many pilgrim’s menus might be cheap but they also lack quality and variety.

On the second route, from Portugal, we avoided pilgrim’s menus and simply ate in restaurants along the way that took our fancy, ordering specialities from whichever area we passed through. As a result, our gastronomic experience was a far more satisfactory one.

Tortillas

It’s Spain, there are tapas bars (taperías) serving the sort of tapas you’ll find across the country – croquetas, ensaladilla rusa, jamóns etc. However, tortillas are a bit of a thing in Galicia. What constitutes an authentic tortilla is a hotly debated topic all over Spain, but in A Coruña the council felt so strongly about it they banned the use of onion as an ingredient in the city’s famous annual tortilla contest.

Zamburiñas

For me, zamburiñas represent one of the dominant flavours of the food found along the Camino de Santiago. We enjoyed these small, smoky scallops at a restaurant near the border with Portugal and also in Santiago de Compostela itself. Scallops are obviously THE symbol of the Camino de Santiago, so a bit of a must for pilgrims.

Pulpo a la gallega

Another one of the ever-present dishes along the Camino is pulpo a la gallega (polbo a feira), slices of octopus sprinkled with paprika and served on a wooden platter or terracotta bowl. The best I’ve had was served with mashed potato, a dream of a pairing. We enjoyed pulpo a la gallega at various places along the route, including in an unassuming pulpería in Padrón where it was accompanied by red wine served the Galician way in a cunca, a porcelain cup without a handle.

Pimientos de Padrón

Talking of Padrón, I was excited at the idea of having a plate of pimientos de Padrón in the area where they originated. They’re so common in Spain, and tapas restaurants outside of Spain, just about everyone knows by now that these are moreish green peppers which are fried in olive oil and sprinkled generously with coarse sea salt. It’s also well known that around one in ten are YOWZA hot (although I haven’t had a hot one in years). What I didn’t know was there was a season for them (May-October) and while, ironically, I can get them year-round in most places, in Padrón I was a couple of weeks too early. I didn’t get to actually eat any pimientos de Padrón in Padrón.

Empanadas

Empanadas are another dish found across Spain whose origins are in Galicia. Basically, empanadas are savoury pies which, when you’re on the Camino, make for really good street food. They can be filled with meat or fish & seafood (including octopus of course). The best I had was a pasty-shaped affair from a tiny grocer in a nondescript village called Escravitude. Maybe it tasted so good because I ate it on the final leg into Santiago.

Mussels and Oysters

Fish and seafood feature heavily on Galician menus. Our Portuguese route veered from the main pilgrims’ path, taking us along the more picturesque Variante Espiritual. This involves a section sailing up the Ría de Arousa between Vilanova de Arousa and Pontecesures, passing floating platforms on which mussels are grown. Earlier on the route, we crossed a lovely historic bridge at Arcade, a pretty, small town at the mouth of the Ría Verdugo which is known for its oysters. In Combarro in Rías Baixas, the smell of freshly grilled fish from restaurants overlooking the Ría de Pontevedra can drive you insane. If you’re a fish and seafood fan, Galicia holds many gastronomic delights to try.

Filloas gallegas

You could easy pass by a Galician speciality in Santiago de Compostela without even registering it as being one. I did. Filloas gallegas look like French crêpes, but they aren’t the same. I didn’t know they were different until researching gastronomy for a Slow Travel guide we were writing about the Camino. Whereas French crêpes are made with eggs, milk, and flour, filloas gallegas can be made with stock, water and, this is for anyone wanting to try a truly authentic version, the blood from slaughtered livestock.

Albariño wine

Finally, as there’s so much excellent seafood to enjoy, the wine to drink with it has to be Albariño. Having spent four years in Portugal, we’d developed a taste for the light and fizzy vinho verde, much of which is made from the same grape. Albariño doesn’t have quite the same fizz but is equally drinkable. Like its Portuguese counterpart, you can get red and white varieties. But white is more popular. It’s a light, dry, citrusy wine that goes down a treat at the end of a long day walking on the Camino de Santiago.

Stage 1: From the border to O Porriño

A TV news crew awaits us as we cross the iron bridge connecting the sleepy Portuguese town of Valença with its wide-awake Spanish neighbour Tui on the opposite side of the river. Tui is wide-awake because it’s an hour ahead. This is a bridge on which you can travel back and forward in time.

The beam on the face of the newsman slips into the River Minho when he hears our English-speaking voices. It’s the first day for months the border between the two countries has been open, and he expected a Spanish or Portuguese local to come ambling into camera shot, not two British hikers. We’re waved away, our opportunity to be stars of Portuguese TV snatched from us because we are the wrong nationality.

Not only is there an absence of locals, there’s also a noticeable lack of fellow pilgrims as we pass our first milestone featuring a yellow scallop shell.

Stage 2: From O Porriño to Saramagoso

In some ways, the Camino is an elongated ghost town. Locals go about their business with relative normality, but a lack of pilgrims has devastated the industry which has grown up around their passing. Many restaurants, bars, cafés, albergues, pensions etc. are closed. Finding places to add stamps to our credencial (the Camino passport) proves problematic.

We pass a tiny chapel barely bigger than a garden shed where a DIY pilgrim stamp had been left on a wooden pew. It seems appropriate that, on a pilgrim’s way, a religious edifice is our saviour.

Stage 3: From Saramagoso to Pontevedra

The mask is a nuisance. It’s not quite as bad as having iron shackles around the legs, but it’s still an impediment when walking long distances. Spain’s rules about it being compulsory outdoors in urban areas, even hamlets, means there’s more mask-wearing than we’d like. On an optimistically sunny morning, the old bridge at the oyster-loving town of Alcalde would make for a great shot to feature in a brochure, especially with a pilgrim on the ‘pilgrim bench’ in the foreground … but not one wearing a face mask.

A combination of lockdown restrictions and walking on tarmac over long distances (it’s the Camino, this is unavoidable) has left our feet sore and mutinous. Andy’s trusty boots, which have safely helped her over far more difficult terrain, are now peevishly pinching at her toes to the extent she’s hobbling.

Luckily, and essentially, we have a rest day in the heart of the historic quarter of Pontevedra, an instantly loveable city we’d never heard of previously. Andy buys new boots and holds a virtual launch for  her book The Banana Road from the luxurious comfort of the Parador de Pontevedra.

Stage 4: From Pontevedra to Armenteira

With feet rested and raring to take to the Portuguese Way again, we cross the river and are on the outskirts of the city when a woman in a car draws level and rolls down her window.
“Que alegre a ver peregrinos,” she smiles, eyes welling.
How happy I am to see pilgrims. It hits like a punch to the solar plexus. Why there have been so many smiles. Why there have been people hanging out windows to shout “hola”. Two pilgrims on the path represent the beginning of a return to normality.

We leave the main Camino to follow the less well-known Variante Espiritual through the Rias Baixas, and the scenery moves up a gear. Pausing for lunch on a bench below a stone cross in the fishing village of Combarro on the banks of the Pontevedra River, we agree it’s the best stage of the Camino we’ve walked so far.

Stage 5: From Armenteira to Vilanova de Arousa

After descending from a monastery in the forest, keeping pace with a roving stream which dances past waterfalls and ancient mills, we follow the gentle curves of the River Umia, declaring THIS stage to be the best so far.

The day ends with us crossing a pedestrian bridge to arrive in Vilanova de Arousa, our base for the night. Or it would be if the town hadn’t just been put back into full lockdown due to a Covid outbreak. Vilanova really is a ghost town.

A taxi backtracks us to our previous night’s accommodation, which is no hardship as it’s a gorgeous looking quinta with a great restaurant.

Stage 4: From Vilanova de Arousa to Lestrove

Arriving back in a seemingly deserted Vilanova ships us right back to the surreal and scary days of lockdown part 1 in early 2020. We hover nervously at the harbour, waiting for a pilgrims’ boat to take us on a quite unique fourth stage. We’re the only passengers as we chug upriver, passing mussel platforms, stone crosses on islets on the Ulla River, and a Viking longship, to re-join the main Camino de Santiago at Pontecesures. It’s an invigorating two-and-a-half-hour voyage, which we decide is definitely the best section of the Camino we’ve (not) walked.

We overnight in Lestrove. Its neighbour is the small town of Padrón, as in pimientos de Padron. This excites me, until a waiter at the Pulpería Rial informs us the savoury peppers are not in season. I wasn’t even aware they had seasons. The excellent octopus combined with zingy wine served in a cunca (traditional Galician wine cup) compensate.

Stage 4: From Lestrove to Santiago de Compostela

The anticipation of reaching Santiago Compostela washes away the kilometres on our lengthy final stage, as does the rain when we draw closer to Spain’s equivalent of Manchester. After a week of warm sunshine, which was predicted to be a week of unsettled weather, we finally get to don ponchos, which keep us so cosy and dry it feels and looks like we’re walking in mobile tents.

The Camino we follow magically bypasses most of Santiago’s sprawling outskirts, keeping our surroundings green and tranquil until we emerge into urbanity not too far from the historic centre.

The last time we entered Santiago de Compostela, we did so on the crest of a wave of pilgrims, homing in on the joyous sounds of emotional emancipation coming from Praza do Obradoiro. This time there is no weary but exuberant army besieging the square, only us.
Ironically, for a city whose heart is normally fuelled by a constant flow of pilgrims, we feel out of place among the smartly dressed domingueros. We enter the square and cross to its centre.
“That’s it, we’re done,” I remark matter-of-factly to Andy, with all the emotion of an android.
There’s no hugging, weeping, or big cheesy smiles to chase away the gloomy clouds. Despite having notched up nearly 200km, there’s not even a great sense of achievement.

There have been many memorable highlights, and we’ve enjoyed walking day after day through the Galician countryside. Being the only pilgrims has also been an interesting experience. But the quiet Camino has taught us one thing. It is all about the people who travel it.

Without fellow pilgrims the Camino is just another long-distance walking route.

It’s a cold March morning in Galicia, the temperature barely raising its head above the parapet of its frozen night. As yet, there are few other pilgrims on the route but that will change as the day grows older. We’re walking the final stretch of the Camino Frances, the most popular route, and we are far from alone in doing so, despite being so early in the season. By Camino standards this is a short day, just 18km, a day for ambling, absorbing, reflecting; the sort of day this journey is all about.

Before we left Madrid to embark on our bite-sized pilgrimage, we listened to a psychologist recount her experience of twice walking the Camino in full and how it ultimately changed her life. She spoke of the inward reflection of the journey; how it gave those who undertake it the time and space to reflect on who they are, their weaknesses and their strengths. Hearing about her experience filled me with an expectation that over the next three days, freed from the pressures and responsibilities of a busy working life, I might find myself able to think beyond the next deadline.

Walking has always been my preferred route to fresh ideas and thinking outside the box. When I’m on any kind of long distance walk, my feet fall into a rhythm so my body expends physical energy unsupervised, allowing my mind to wander wherever it pleases. Sometimes my thoughts flit across frivolous meadows, at other times they venture deep into canyons before emerging into sunlight, viewing a problem or an aspect of my life with entirely new eyes.

We pass the familiar stone waymark post with a yellow shell on a blue background. On top, a pair of walking boots sit, their journey done, their story now woven into the very fabric of the Camino. The path flits in and out of eucalyptus-scented woodlands; past farms where kittens lie alongside chickens, warming their heads in the morning sun; through village squares where the spouts of stone fountains trickle and wood smoke spirals from cottage chimneys. As the day progresses, we encounter more pilgrims sharing this penultimate section of their own journey – groups of teenagers on some kind of team building or outward bound event; couples, friends, the occasional lone walker – and with each, the almost compulsory buen camino greeting is exchanged in recognition of a shared yet deeply personal experience.

Our final morning dawns damp and grey as we set off from O Pedrouzo. It’s the sort of weather that would normally have me postponing a walk but on the Camino that isn’t an option. Leaving the town and heading into the woods we quickly fall into our usual rhythm despite the now persistent drizzle and I remember a walk on Gran Canaria many years ago when we sat on a ridge and squeezed the rain out of our socks before continuing, our feet squelching in our sodden boots. The contrast today couldn’t be more marked – my feet are bone dry and supremely comfortable, I’m exactly the right temperature despite being zipped up to the chin and hooded – in other words, I’m free from the extraneous distractions and discomforts that negate the joy of long distance walking.

It’s mid-afternoon when we arrive at the outskirts of Santiago de Compostela after walking 21km and I begin to feel a frisson of joy as the waymarked distance to our final destination begins the countdown. By the time we arrive into the square in front of the cathedral, I feel an elation that belies the meagre 54km we have walked over the past two and a half days, a sense of camaraderie with my fellow walkers, and a pride in our earned right to be there. I can barely imagine how magnified that feeling would be if I had walked the 300+km of the Primitivo. The sun makes a fleeting appearance for our triumphal arrival before retreating into thick cloud to be replaced by a heavy downpour of rain. It doesn’t matter, nothing can dampen our spirits.

We check into the Pousada and head out for a beer.

Reflecting on our experiences, I ask myself if I’ve discovered more about who I am, my weaknesses and strengths, and I conclude that I have not. Nor have I made any life-changing decisions or seen any aspect of my life in a whole new light. But I feel emotionally, mentally and physically refreshed by the experience. Even on my small taster I’ve met some amazing people, enjoyed some beautiful Galician countryside and been a small part of something far bigger than I imagined it was going to be, something that we resolve to undertake in full in the future. I have no doubt that when I walk the entire Camino Primitivo I will indeed uncover insights into myself and in all likelihood, come to some potentially life-changing conclusions, even if they only change small things. Sometimes the little things can make a big difference.

We walked a section of the Camino Santiago as guests of Gore-Tex, those clever people who produce the waterproof, windproof, breathable material which we find in all our favourite active brands and I’ll be sharing my experience of wearing those boots and that jacket on here in the coming weeks.

“Am I?” I made a note to check when I took the boots off.

When it comes to brand names I’m a mercenary. I have no loyalty to anything; immune to the latest trend. That’s not to say clever marketers can’t get to me some times. I bought a pair of Camels years ago just because a poster of a foot in a Camel boot resting on a log in an exotic jungle made me want to be in the picture.

Mostly I choose what to buy based on whether it’s fit for purpose; the name on the label has no real bearing… up to a point. I still want to know something is reliable. My muddy boots (the driver was correct, they were Tecnica hiking boots made with GORE-TEX fabric) were chosen because they were light, comfortable and had a sole which could soften the impact of rocky terrain and keep me upright on slippery slopes. For two years they’ve performed their role perfectly. So much so I was reluctant to give them up in order to test a new pair over a three day long-distance trail event on the Camino de Santiago. The event was arranged by GORE-TEX and involved around thirty travel writers/bloggers etc from around Europe testing products under real conditions.

This isn’t about just about walking/hiking gear though. This is about the practical aspects of walking the Camino de Santiago, including observations over those three days which should help us plan effectively for walking a full Camino.

Clothing and footwear
The outlook promised cold, wet weather. We knew we were being provided with boots and a jacket but we took our own anyway, just in case we didn’t get on with the gear. Fleece-lined trousers had kept us toastie on glaciers in Chile; hats and gloves picked up in the Black Forest had protected us from icy sleet there, and base layers combined with light fleeces had served us well in all sorts of conditions. We’ve also got more special hiking socks than conventional socks now as we’ve found modern hiking socks make a huge difference to foot comfort when walking long distances and day after day. A super tip from the organisers, which we hadn’t heard before, was to rub Vaseline into your feet before setting off.

The boots provided were Lowa and felt a bit snug at first. They were also incredibly light, making my own boots feel almost clunky. A few kilometres into our first walk and I forgot I was wearing new boots. For three days and 60km of walking my feet felt fresh and perky. A bigger test will be how they perform on the Greek Island of Andros in a couple of weeks.

As for the jacket (North Face) – lightweight and nicely tailored – I was hooked from the first moment I tried it on. On icy mornings I felt warm. When the sun rose and the day heated up I didn’t feel too hot. When it chucked it down in Santiago de Compostela the rain simply slid off the fabric. Most importantly, my movements felt unconstrained. It’s a wonderful jacket.

From experience we know what gear to wear in various hiking conditions, but what we picked up in Galicia enhanced what we already owned.

Where to stay
Our accommodation was arranged as part of the trip but illustrated the levels of accommodation available along the Camino. First was Hotel Suiza in Arzúa, a basic two-star hotel. It was comfortable enough and a passable place to spend a night. Breakfast wasn’t great and the hot water didn’t work, something you really don’t need after a day’s walking. But I’m glad I experienced it as it represented the lower end of what’s available.
Our second night was at Pension Maribel in Pedrouzo; also budget accommodation, but there the similarities ended. It didn’t have the same facilities, but the room was far more aesthetically pleasing with a few personal touches… and it had a powerful hot shower.

We ended at the Parador Hostel dos Reis Católicos in Santiago de Compostela – pure, unadulterated, historical luxury.

All along our route were signs pointing to pilgrim accommodation; from rural hotels and albergues to pensions and rooms in houses. A whole industry has grown up around the Camino, created to meet the needs of pilgrims. We could have stopped just about anywhere, which was interesting as on all three days we could have easily continued walking. Knowing there is plenty of accommodation means when we do a full Camino route we’ll walk until we feel ready to stop. Then we’ll decide where to stay.

Food and drink
As well as hotels and pensions, there were multitudinous cafés and restaurants along our route. Keeping well stocked with food and water wouldn’t have been a problem – meaning no need to carry excess weight. Our lunches, snacks and dinners were provided so it wasn’t something we had to think about. Had we been walking under our own steam there were loads of Camino-side cafés which would have tempted us to rest for a little while.

As far as the food on offer goes, the quality was mixed. Some of it wasn’t great – a greasy caldo Gallego in one restaurant was a poor relation of the wonderful caldo verde across the border. A dish of green beans had been cooked to the point they just flopped, exhausted, onto my plate. Some of it was standard northern Spanish fare, and some of it was good – pulpo a la Gallega in the same place which served the bad soup; local cheeses in a restaurant in Pedrouzo; our final meal in the Parador.

A friend who knows the area, Paddy Waller (the Spanish Thyme Traveller), commented on facebook “Camino food caters for the pilgrims.. loads of cheapy menus… but some good stuff particularly in Logroño, Burgos, Leon and of course the final destination.”

We were a large group which clearly affects the culinary experience – only certain restaurants could accommodate us, and the bigger the group the more it’s likely to impact on quality.

Signposting
As we’re normally route-finding, checking directions, taking notes etc. just walking for walking’s sake was a bit of a treat for us. Generally speaking, it would be difficult to go wrong on the Camino. There are the official signs at just about every junction, additional unofficial arrows on lampposts and walls, cairns, shells embedded in the pavement in towns, and all sorts of quirky ways which reassure you’re on the right path.

The ‘customised’ signs and messages all along the route are actually and additional feature of the Camino – sometimes amusing, occasionally emotional, now and again profound… and at other times cheesy enough to be lyrics from a pop song.

Basically the Camino de Santiago seems easy to navigate. Even so, some people in our group did stray from the path which for us, as writers of route directions, was interesting in itself. But that’s another topic altogether.

“Do you still want to walk the whole of the Camino?”

“No,” I reply without hesitation.

At this point my mind is still closed to what walking the Camino de Santiago is all about.

Stage 1: Melide to Arzúa, a 16km starter
The black bubble tent looks like a UFO which has touched down in Melide’s tiny Medieval plaza. Around thirty journalists, bloggers, and instagrammers from Germany, Spain, Italy, France, Norway, Sweden, Britain (us), South Korea and Japan line up to collect maps, water flasks, and a mini digicam. In return we hand over our mobile phones, to be returned when we complete the stage. Our objective is to test GORE-TEX jackets and walking boots. But the organisers are keen participants experience the Camino properly, without the distraction of social media.

The plan was to start walking at 12.45; however, the bus journey from Madrid took longer than estimated. At 14.30 we’re just starting lunch, a hearty affair consisting of noodle soup and a schnitzel. The cutlery has gone missing so we drink the soup from its rectangular container and treat the schnitzel like finger food, watched by a couple of bemused police officers.

At 14.50 we finally take to the Camino de Santiago. It’s 16km to our destination. In the hilly destinations we normally walk, a 16km hike could take most of the day so, aware of the lateness of the hour, we set off at a brisk pace. The path is relatively flat, with only slight undulations, making the going easy and fast. Soon we swap the town’s stone cottages for gently rolling farmlands, excited when we see the first sunburst scallop sign confirming we’re on the pilgrims’ path.

Almost immediately the group thins out and we find ourselves virtually alone on the Camino. We cross streams, pass through dappled forests and skirt hamlets with narrow constructions which look like hen houses raised off the ground, but are actually designed to dry vegetables away from the gnawing mouths of rats and mice. The new boots we picked up the previous night feel comfortable and light as air; a relief as we had concerns about heading out on a long trail with them untested.

Even at this early stage it’s noticeable there’s a tranquil aura along the Camino. Cats and hens share the same patch of sunlight and dogs don’t go into a barking frenzy when we pass. Anyone who’s walked in Spain will know how unusual this is.

Three hours after leaving Melide, the Camino takes us through the older part of Arzúa to arrive at our accommodation, Hotel Suiza. It’s comfortable, clean and quite basic. There’s a problem with the water on our floor, it refuses to heat up. A rapid, icy shower isn’t the most pleasant way to get rid of the day’s grime.

“You’re experiencing the Camino properly,” quips one of the organisers when we mention the cold shower.

Stage 2: Arzúa to O Pedrouzo, a 19km main course
It’s -1C when we take to the Camino after a Spartan breakfast. The sun is shining once again, slightly disappointing the GORE-TEX crew who hoped we’d experience their product in more challenging conditions. Persistent rainfall up until the day we started walking has left sections of the path muddy. At least the boots get some of a test; although, as I don’t want to get my new footwear dirty, I gingerly pick my way through the squishiest sections.

The sun might be shining, but baby it’s cold outside. Not that I feel it. A combination of snazzy new jacket, fleece-lined trousers bought for a Chile trip and gloves and hat picked up in the Black Forest have me feeling as snug as a bug in a rug.

There’s a different vibe to the path this morning. We’re regularly overtaken by groups of walkers aged around 15/16; a school or college expedition. The Camino feels crowded – a contrast from the calm meandering of the previous day. We’re used to walking lesser known paths where other walkers are few and far between. Subsequently, I find myself resenting the presence of other pilgrims. Comparing the Camino with other places we’ve spent a week or two walking every day, it feels more like a walkers’ highway.

At this point I tell Andy I’ve lost the desire to walk the full Camino.

But I’m out of step by judging it as thought it were just another walking route.

Approaching a refreshment point after 6km we catch up with a trio of young girls. They’re dirt-splattered, limping and look tired even at this early hour. They’re also smiling and chatting, clearly relishing the challenge. Whereas we stop for a drink of Aquarius and to munch a Twix, they continue to hobble onwards. There is no well stocked refreshment stall for them. The scales begin to fall from my eyes. More fall with every weary, muddy, joyous pilgrim we encounter.

At one point we pass a British couple of a similar age to us and I feel compelled to confess to being a fraud, telling them we’ll only notch up three days. The man laughs and says “at least you’re walking some of it. Buen Camino.”

With every Camino signpost showing the kilometres to the final destination lowering, there’s a corresponding notion the levels of achievement and excitement at nearing the end of the path is rising. With it, even to part-time pilgrims like us, comes a sense of having shared something special. The evident camaraderie among walkers is inspiring, heart-lifting.

Despite a misunderstanding which adds an extra 4km to our route, we reach cosy Pension Maribela in O Pedrouzo at 15.00. It’s too soon, we should have taken more time. I don’t want the stage to end. In complete contrast to how I felt in the morning, now I want to experience the Camino like a real pilgrim; to walk it from start to finish.

Stage 3: O Pedrouzo to Santiago de Compostela, sweet 21km
It’s a grey, drizzly morning. Having enjoyed two unexpected sunny days I don’t mind, in fact I’m keen to see how our gear performs in damp, windy conditions.

Whereas on other stages our group split into small groups almost immediately, for the final day we seem to subconsciously stick closer together. There are some fellow GORE-TEX ‘testers’ we’ve particularly hit it off with; one of them being the delightful Amjoo, the only participant from South Korea. For the ultimate stage we walk together. She tells us about South Korea, we show her eucalyptus cups and warn about processionary caterpillars, chatting endlessly as we wind down the kilometres to Santiago. Everyone’s pace appears to be slower today. It’s not deliberate, perhaps our collective subconsciousness is delaying reaching the end of the road.

Lunch is taken at Monte do Gozo, a hill where pilgrims gather for their first sighting of Santiago de Compostela. We know when we’re drawing close to it when we hear singing; apparently the tradition is for pilgrims to vociferously express their joy at seeing the end of their journey, 5km down the road.

The Monte is buzzing with pilgrims, a small army in multi-coloured hiking gear, eating and chanting. Whereas a couple of days previously I might have muttered something about it being overcrowded, now their unbridled joy makes me beam. I’m happy for them; privileged to witness their achievement. I’m also jealous of the wave of emotion which will surely engulf them when they finally arrive at Santiago de Compostela’s Cathedral.

As we reach Santiago’s urban outskirts the world suddenly seems more brash and full of mechanical noises. The feeling of loss at nearing the end of our brief time on the Camino weighs heavily. I really don’t want to stop walking. Ahead we can hear faint singing and cheering; the sound of mass exhilaration is infectious, lifting my spirits.

Brass shells embedded in the pavement lead to the old town where tranquillity is resumed and modernity replaced by suitably historic edifices. Providing a musical welcome to pilgrims as they approach the final arch leading to Praza do Obradoiro is a Galician piper. Being Scottish, the rousing sound of the pipes automatically prods my heart, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. We stride through the arch to join a mass love-in of people laughing, crying, hugging.

We spot some other members of our group and spontaneously hug each other. I was worried we’d be outsiders when it came to being greeted by a wave of emotion at journey’s end. A constricting throat and welling in my eyes tell me otherwise.

If I feel like this after three days, I can’t imagine the intensity that comes after a month of walking the Camino de Santiago. But I intend to find out.